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I push that thought aside.
“I gave them so many orgasms, they better have a glowing recommendation for me,” I mutter, pulling my eyes off the man who had been checking me out. This is the problem with my mother. She ruins fucking everything, even some casual eye fucking from across the room.
“As what, Sadie? A hooker? You going to go find yourself a pimp and sell yourself on the streets? What a proud mother I am! My daughter can’t hold down a job, but at least she gives good blowjobs.”
And I’m out.
“Well, as always, your maternal concern is heartwarming, but I’ve got to go. Lots of cocks to suck.” I pull the phone from my ear and hit the hang-up button before dropping the phone face down on the table and ignoring it when it buzzes again. I know from experience that she’ll call twice more, leave an angry voicemail and then promptly forget about me until I fuck up again.
Never have I met a woman less into being a parent than she is, but with the insane urge to berate me every time I make a mistake. Not out of worry for me, but because of how my fuck ups reflect on her.
I used to care about her opinion, but now I realize life is too short to cater to anyone else.
Ignoring the curious looks I’m getting from the other patrons of Bonheur, I pick up my cappuccino and take a sip, groaning at the flavor. Yeah, probably one of the best cappuccinos I’ve ever had. And if the coffee is this good, I’m sure that the pastry is going to be fucking epic. Better get one just to be sure.
Leaving my phone and drink on the table, I head to the counter.
The first bite of the kouign amann hits my tongue like a freaking symphony of flavors. The flaky, buttery puff pastry, the layers of vanilla sugar, the slight bite of sea salt. Deceptively simple. But I’m pretty sure it would be so easy to fuck it up. As is the way with most French pastry.
But damn if I don’t want to try. I take another bite, then eye the case full of baked goods, halfway wishing I’d bought more than one, but no. If I’m going to be drinking my calories tonight, then I can’t eat my weight in butter, flour and sugar, no matter how much I might want to.
I’ll just have to make this one last.
With that thought in mind, I set the pastry down and pick up my drink again, cradling it in both hands and turning my head to people watch out the window. I have a few hours until I need to meet Sylvie. Enough time for a second cup of caffeine to keep me going.
I should spend this time looking for another job. I should scroll through the help wanted ads. My mother is right. I haven’t had any other jobs besides the one I’m currently leaving, and although I totally kicked ass at it, leaving under these circumstances is definitely less than ideal.
Maybe I need to do something like Sylvie does, become an accountant and work from home with just a handful of clients. Or maybe Sorrel will hire me for the summer. I’m sure I could learn how to fry up hamburgers in her restaurant, The Snack Shack, up on Kilrose Lake. At the very least, I could bus tables and do the dishes.
Maybe be in charge of the little bar that opens on the dock behind the restaurant on the weekends. I can mix a mean margarita.
Sorrel never hires enough people. Always thinking she can do it herself. That she has to do it herself, even though she never wanted to own a restaurant in the first place. Slinging burgers is not her dream.
It’s not mine either, but I’d like to help out my best friend. Well, my other best friend.
“You need a cock to suck? You can call me Katniss, cause I volunteer as tribute.” A low voice says from right next to my table. Right. Because I said that out loud. Of course, someone is going to take that as an invitation. Probably the guy who was eye fucking me earlier. I sigh and turn my attention away from the window, a frown already pulling at my red lips.
But it melts right along with my panties as I take in the man standing next to me. Did I say ‘man’? Because I meant God. He’s a fucking god. Pale white blond hair long on the top and shaved at the sides, falls over a golden forehead. Dark eyebrows slash over gold eyes. I mean actually gold eyes. I don’t know if they’re contacts or what, but holy hell, I’ve never seen eyes that color. He’s got high cheekbones and a plush mouth I want to lick and he’s tall and wide, but not too big. Big enough that I’ll feel small compared to him, but not that’s it’ll be uncomfortable to fuck him.
I blink as I battle the image of us having sex right here in this freaking cafe on this very table, in front of all these people like a claiming, and then shake the image away. I’ve already ruined my panties just by looking at him, I don’t need to ruin the chair I’m sitting on, too.
As a beta, I don’t pay a lot of attention to scents. I don’t have a scent match. Not like bonded packs and their omegas. The most I do is make sure whoever I’m planning on hooking up with doesn’t smell like rotting fish or burned popcorn or something equally as stomach churning. But this guy, this alpha, smells so good my mouth waters after the faintest inhale.
Coconut and sun and sea salt, a faint hint of rum. A boozy day at the beach. That’s what he smells like and I am here for it. So fucking here for it.
His gold eyes are watching me intently, as intently as I’m watching him, flitting from my messy bun to my tight dress over the diamond fence fishnet thigh highs and down to my black ankle booties.
“Fuck, you’re pretty,” he murmurs, his mouth pulling into a wide grin. “Like really fucking pretty.”
Usually, if a man approaches me about a blowjob before we’ve even exchanged a greeting, I’ll tell him off. But something about this guy has me tipping my lips into a smile, unusually flattered by his easy compliment.
“Thank you. You’re pretty too.” And good lord, is that fucking true.
He preens under my compliment, shoulders straightening just the slightest bit. “I know.”
I laugh and shake my head, brows arching as I wait for him to continue. But he doesn’t say anything else, just stands there staring at me with those gold eyes of his. Under normal circumstances, I might have felt… unsettled by such intense regard, but with him? It feels fucking natural that his eyes should be on me.
And then he leans down, one hand going to the table, the other to the back of my chair, until his nose is on my neck. Goosebumps ripple over my flesh as he takes a big inhale, then groans. “You smell good too.”
